"gimmick" poems
I hope i'm fooling everybody
With my fake gimmick of a cover up
And I hope it doesn't highlight my lack of beauty
But the only thing i fear it highlights is the lie that drips from my fake
*"I don't give a ****
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 6:11 AM UTC
*i think, you should stop going to italy, for one, oh **** me, keep going on hedonist piss-fuck fests to places like mallorca, but stop going to italy, you're making my stomach ache from laughter, with what you come back with, the so-called "innovations"; somehow i'd just poach my cauliflower, and drizzle it with fried breadcrumbs, and serve it as a side-dish to fried eggs (2), and some tatties; for goodness sake, even cauliflower cream soup makes more sense, garnished with some fried chorizo!*
first it was avocado on toast...
who the **** puts avocado on bread?
i can imagine putting it in pasta...
but on bread?
hey, what the **** does
the acronym f.a.d. mean?
i don't know, and i won't google it...
o.k. avocado on toast...
nothing near guacamole,
but fair enough...
but what i discovered... pushes
the button where i turn into a fox laughter
(fuchslachen) -
i couldn't stop...
you can find it in the weekend
section of the saturday times newspaper...
written by nicola m.
cauliflower and mozzarella pizza...
you have to be ******** me...
cauliflower? on pizza?
one of my housemates at university told
me an anecdote:
i was in a restaurant once,
and asked for a pizza with no cheese...
he continued:
and then the head chef came out and
asked me... are you, insane?!
a bit like: bread... but no butter?
and i thought i was insane eating a watermelon
today, whole,
the red pulp, and the outer layers including
the skin included, allowing myself
a gorilla imitation cameo gimmick...
but i thought i was mad...
but there's avocado on toast...
and now... cauliflower on pizza...
it's a ******* side-dish!
wait, don't tell me... you're going to put
some potatoes onto the pizza the next frizz
comes along... right?
how about beetroot?
thankfully, if i have some
wacky ideas in terms of culinary escapades,
they happen, drunk, after 12a.m.,
and i'm the scientist, and the experimental rabbit
2-in-1...
a newspaper column?
apparently, you get one, putting avocado
on toast...
or cauliflower on a pi-zzzzz-ah...
to be honest, even though i haven't tried it,
grilled aubergines on a pizza could work...
the toast? marmite and cheddar...
english people should stop glorifying holidays
in italy... they're ****** cooks...
an italian would just look at
a pizza with cauliflower and say: cosa?
i'd suggest heading to scotland first,
and picking up the vibes from some haggis.
**** me...
avocado on toast...
caulifower on a pizza?!
now i can die happy, 'appy,
clapping: encore!
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 2:54 PM UTC
I keep my head up,
lips snarled and puckered,
teeth show,
nose high,
squinted eyes,
you can see death in them.
I look to the left,
I look to the right,
now it's time to fight,
3-2-1 take flight,
we go all night,
keep my fist packed tight,
and if I lose I'll be back looking through my iron sight.
This is the law of the land,
dog eat dog,
tooth for tooth,
an eye for eye,
kill or be killed,
I'm a killer with a blood instinct.
Came up in the mafia vicinage,
we live life this ain't no scrimmage,
live by Omerta it ain't no image,
living life without problems is a privilege,
when you start talking to cops you finished,
that's how we get down in my evil village,
nothing changed we all living vintage,
I can see you coming in with your gimmick,
don't try to test my limit,
I'm Popeye on steroids and spinach.
Rimani persone reali.
Oct 16, 2014
Oct 16, 2014 at 5:51 PM UTC
DEFINITION OF *****
I question your gimmick
Lame limericks
Their cryptic
More mystic
Unrealistic
Ya ****** it
On chronic
Contagious like the bubonic
Hooked hydroponics
Pathetically neurotic
So drop it
your **** ain't ****
Just tragically prosthetic
Prophetical ********
You think that u know ****
You blow it
Thats classic.
CUZ YOUR THE DEFINITION OF *****
YOU'VE LOST ONE TOO MANY A STITCH
ITS WHY ALL YOU SPEW IS SOME ****
MAY AS WELL BE A SNITCH
YOU SO REFINED AS A *****
Its 101 basic
I didn't quit this
You lost it
Worth only Drunken kisses
I'm pretty when you chase it
Your too shallow to accept it
Together we're right
But my body ain't tight
To ur likes
its your ****
That's a *****
Only looks for them tricks
Your dellusionally idiotic
To think that ya got it
When trix are for kids
Your games hit and miss
Happily ever afters not bliss
First loves kiss is just a playlist
CUZ YOUR THE DEFINITION OF *****
YOU'VE LOST ONE TOO MANY A STITCH
ITS WHY ALL YOU SPEW IS SOME ****
MAY AS WELL BE A SNITCH
YOU SO REFINED AS A *****
You Can't find love in this mess
Be a girl wear a dress
Listen more talk less
Don't change who you are
Just your flesh
Tell the truth is said to me
Love was free for the taking
Or so I believed
Your lies used as feed
But your pet I am not
Yeah I guess you forgot
What yo ma shoulda taught
That one shots all life's got
CUZ YOUR THE DEFINITION OF *****
YOU'VE LOST ONE TOO MANY A STITCH
ITS WHY ALL YOU SPEW IS SOME ****
MAY AS WELL BE A SNITCH
YOU SO REFINED AS A *****
The good bits stole away
By this crap game you play
All day, you just sway
On your way
Thinking your owed
By some ****** up code
But your method or mode
Is about to explode
Like mace
In your face
With no trace
Your erased
You ain't even today
Your the past, Yesterday
Can't change that
My ma used to say
Just look for tomorrow
in your ARKs of today
CUZ YOUR THE DEFINITION OF *****
YOU'VE LOST ONE TOO MANY A STITCH
ITS WHY ALL YOU SPEW IS SOME
****
YOU MAY AS WELL BE A SNITCH
THATS WHY YOU'LL ALWAYS BE *****
Mar 7, 2013
Mar 7, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC
Life is naught but a gimmick,
Is taken for granted,
And is a means of society proclaimed glory and greatness.
We blame God for the things that are wrong with this world when it falls only on us.
Do you miss when times were simple,
The small things mattered,
Women took pride in being flattered
And men took pride in their approach to these women.
Where life was more than a means to please,
But was something that we knew couldn't be passed with ease.
There were no cheat codes back then, life wasn't a game
There was less of a need for us to rise to fame.
There was less of a need to have the next best thing,
And couples took more pride in a diamond ring.
Big brother wasn't watching us and we felt no need to be watching it,
There was no place on the street where black boys felt they should loiter and sit.
The sun seemed brighter and winter was when winter was,
A woman did not feel she should change to what a man is,
They were quite content in keeping their vaginas.
Was it the fault of the hierarchy top
That gave the choice for them to just stop
Being what they're supposed to be
Or was it always in wanting and just I did not see.
Music was better; back then it had more meaning
To this day I still wonder what happened to it,
I think a few more years for more real music I'll be feening.
What happened to TV,
Cartoon Network,
BBC,
ITV,
What foolishness is on nowadays,
Made for us to judge other people on their looks,
Their talents and skills,
But let's see,
Who are we to look down on others who try,
Look down on yourself,
And about yourself just try not to lie.
What happened to game?
It seems that these days,
All we need is a pin not a key to the heart.
People claming to be in love,
But do you know what love is?
New girlfriend tomorrow,
Did you sign up to have kids?
What happened to love?
Not just for man but for God?
Do you not remember how He came through when you lost?
When you were alone,
Lust for life was but memory,
How you came through but thought it was on your own?
What happened to the world,
Tell me if you had a little girl,
Would you treat her like a pen,
Let her be used by whoever would ask,
Discard her once done with knowing she wouldn't last.
Or treat her like a flower in the desert,
Treasure and savour with hope it will last,
With love and a prayer,
That this moment is forever.
Dec 5, 2012
Dec 5, 2012 at 5:59 AM UTC
So here we are, just you and me. On the edge of everything and nothing, we sit staring out into the ocean of things we wish we’d done.
We hold hands, it’s a formality. I’m scared. You soothed my anxiety, because even though I was scared of you, I knew everyone else was too.
I miss making you coffee in the morning, I wish I’d loved YOU more. You always had that massive mug with two teabags or two tablespoons of coffee.
I wish your family and I could have worked. Please don’t think for a second I didn’t try. Most of my time spent at yours was on eggshells, the ones they had placed.
I miss our first year, your second. Remember that? We were so silly and full of joy. Gimmick Puppets, Plants. You and your stupid trenchcoat that ended up smelling awful no matter how much you washed it. Your long hair was nice. I liked it. It framed your smile that was as bright as the Sun that set in the West over Zephyr’s strawberry field.
The light sank in your eyes the more you were with me. I drained you, I knew that. I stayed. I lied. You didn’t trust me anymore.
I’m happy, admittedly lonely. But I know you’re happy, scared but happy. It’s always been my job to appear, do what I must (whether I know what that is or not) and watch over. The bear finds another like him, and as I remember mentioning a few times, as we lounged lazily on the sofa with our cereal, playing every bit the monsters others cast us out to be;
What on Earth is a bear doing with an angel?
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
RE: an open letter to the sciences
To the laws of science, physics and attraction,
it's the reaction when I wink
that I'm worried about, it's my weak link,
my loose link, a failing eye that cannot blink
in a **** discreet, try-and-compete-with-this,
way.
In bars and upon streets is where I wish to catch the eye
of a woman walking the opposite way, on a wind
that makes her walk a little quicker than usual,
it's then, at this point, just as she passes,
that my left lid would close is a gentle flash
and I'd swoon into her memory
as, that-guy-who-gave-me-a-non-weird-completely-in-context-wink.
This is where you come in laws of science, physics and attraction,
I'm failing to achieve such a goal, I'm a gimmick;
they'd probably use it against me to appear the better person
in a conversation they may have without me,
help me laws.
I know you're just textbook pages stored in classroom drawers,
but you must be filled with information about casual flirtation,
maybe a how-to chapter on how to capture the eye of someone
or a section on how to practice the wink in a reflection, in a mirror,
somewhere else that isn't here.
Science. Physics. Attraction. I know my grades
in you were less than perfect, abysmal I will admit,
but I'm asking for your wisdom.
Yours,
Tim Knight
Age: Inadequate
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
I had a red parrot with a long beak
It was a smart bird I aptly named Nick
One day, it caught a cold and fell sick
It refused to give a speech all week
Even its favourite words, it wouldn't speak
Dear parrot's future seemed very bleak
Off for a solution I went to seek
Out of many I made my pick
For the services of a vet called Vic
She was beautiful and brilliant, very chic
Just as I heard, her talents were slick
Her office was neat, her armpits didn't reek
During treatment, my Nick was quite meek
I excused myself to quickly take a leak
Suddenly, from the restroom I heard a kick
I hurried across the hallway to take a sharp peek
And what I saw made my shocked jaws tick
My skinned bird was hanging on a stick
Over a flaming fire laid on a burnt brick
What had I done to deserve such a trick?
Why would Vet Vic perform this flick?
I peered at her carefully but it didn't click
So I wrote this poem and put on lipstick.
REALLY:
Nick is healthy again, it was only a gimmick
I am so happy now, I always wear lipstick ☺
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
Please don’t pity my situation
I’m frozen in situ
Don’t smile and **** your head
Don’t say awww or that’s a shame
Don’t pat my hand and assume it will happen
Don’t tell me I’m missing out
Don’t tell me I’ll never understand until it happens to me
Don’t assume your life is more fulfilled then mine
Don’t pretend it makes you more mature then me
Don’t make me a faux Aunty to another friends fruit
Don’t joke about lending or sitting like it’s the same
Don’t imagine Yours could ever be a substitute for mine
That they could replace the ache in my heart or fill it with what it’s missing - even worse be greatful for the privilege
Don’t act like it’s a grand gester like your giving my life meaning
When things are awful and bad don’t tell me you stay for them and use them as an excuse to not walk away
Don’t tell me if I had I’d under stand
Don’t make me feel incomplete because I haven’t - I’m already feeling it
Don’t call me lucky because I sleep in
Don’t say “nice for some” when I go out it isn’t my choice
Don’t assume this is about freedom
Don’t pretend it will happen one day
Don’t put your false hopes onto me
Don’t assume he will leave me if I don’t deliver - we’re much more then potentials Ps
Don’t assume it’s because of the weight
Don’t give me a gimmick or tips
Don’t tell me your storys
Don’t talk about it or predict about it
Dont tell me about feelings in your waters
Don’t treat me like this is my only purpose
Dont think I get hurt because you grow and blossom in a way I can’t
Don’t assume I’m bitter and resentful
Don’t pretend I can’t be happy for you
Dont treat me like I’m broken like my whole exsistence revolves around a broken womb
.......I’m so much more
.......I’ve seen so much more, felt so much more, grown and lost
.......I live so much more and want so much more
.......I have more plans and options then you can imagine
My back up plan is full of love and life still!!
(C) Ashley Kane FB
Mar 31, 2018
Mar 31, 2018 at 9:56 AM UTC
a polish pork head terrine?
my ******* god...
how can the jews and the muslims
take to culinary criticism of
their own, respective gods?
ever watch the t.v. show
billions? where they're having
breadcrumbs fried pork
ears?
last time i heard...
the best pork is encapsulated
within the pig cranium....
all that excess cartilage?
yummy finger licking good...
seems funny though...
it's not exactly discussing bone marrow...
it's pork head...
all that excess cartilage...
and mingled with sweet & sour
gherkins...
just my idea of Anastasia...
a porky's head...
chicken hearts / chicken livers....
raw Baltic herrings?
who the, **** needs to glorify
american hamburgers...
if not some jerking-off
megalomaniac?
you eat, what is given,
you don't ask for nuances,
you don't make excuses...
you eat what is on the plate..
you **** the omnivore "gimmick"...
pork head flesh,
meat mixed with cartilage?
tasty as ****
so why would islam
or the partial strand of judaism
be so critical concerning the most
economic carnivore animal being
farmed, herded, industrialised?
the monotheistic celebration of god...
within the confines of a criticism,
so trivial would make a god laugh...
it would appear the dogma was written as a joke...
earthquake and hurricane
are o.k., but pork?
the ******* bubonic plague!
i love how "god" is celebrated,
but at the same time,
kept under a critical acclaim
of having one of his creations,
namely pork...
given a punching bag status of criticism...
since, what is so ******* pristine,
and spectacular, about chicken, lamb
or beef meat?
according to islam... mad cow disease
never happened.
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 9:19 PM UTC
Zombies Or Rabies
Walking around one afternoon,
foaming at the mouth, like a rabid raccoon.
Was I bitten by a dog,
I couldn't tell through the fog.
Is Cujo on the loose,
with a possum, I tried to ******
Walking sideways to the local clinic,
people are laughing, thinking it's a gimmick.
Feeling like a poisoned zombie,
starting to cry and wanting my mommy.
Cars are trying to run me over,
I'm playing Frogger and red rover.
At the point, where I can't even speak,
I am way up on shit's creek.
This might happen to you if you're bit,
sure wish I had a survival kit.
I feel the need to feed on flesh,
it tastes so good and so fresh.
Blood is dripping down my face,
Walmart seemed like the right place.
No one cares about rednecks and minorities,
I may have rabies, but I still have my priorities.
Old people and fat ones too,
what other kind of people are better to chew.
Am I a zombie or severely rabid,
whatever it is it's spreading so rapid.
People I've killed are starting to rise,
it's Halloween, so we need no disguise.
Inside Walmart is the walking dead,
old women with no teeth are giving me head.
All the doors got bolted shut,
a crowded Walmart is doing the zombie strut.
The military has surrounded the store,
foaming at the mouth, is so worth dying for.
Can hear the jets as they fly by,
their about to bomb Walmart, till we all die.
I escaped through a secret trap door,
I'm about to go on a feeding frenzy tour.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 1:22 AM UTC
Take away your knowledge, Doktor.
It doesn't butter me up.
You say my heart is sick unto.
You ought to have more respect!
you with the goo on the suction cup.
You with your wires and electrodes
fastened at my ankle and wrist,
******* up the biological breast.
You with your zigzag machine
playing like the stock market up and down.
Give me the Phi Beta key you always twirl
and I will make a gold crown for my molar.
I will take a slug if you please
and make myself a perfectly good appendix.
Give me a fingernail for an eyeglass.
The world was milky all along.
I will take an iron and press out
my slipped disk until it is flat.
But take away my mother's carcinoma
for I have only one cup of fetus tears.
Take away my father's cerebral hemorrhage
for I have only a jigger of blood in my hand.
Take away my sister's broken neck
for I have only my schoolroom ruler for a cure.
Is there such a device for my heart?
I have only a gimmick called magic fingers.
Let me dilate like a bad debt.
Here is a sponge. I can squeeze it myself.
O heart, tobacco red heart,
beat like a rock guitar.
I am at the ship's prow.
I am no longer the suicide
with her raft and paddle.
Herr Doktor! I'll no longer die
to spite you, you wallowing
seasick grounded man.
2k
****
**** I felt like I could not stop
It felt too good when I’d pop
9 months later we’d have our crop
All came from a single drop
**** now we’re dealing with problems of the sort
Looks like we are headed to court
Could have been avoided if she’d just abort
And now I’m destined for child support
**** I don’t even know how it started
She was much more than half hearted
Otherwise we would have parted
Usually they do once I’ve farted
**** I’m not a role-model, do not mimic
Not trying to sell you no gimmick
Believe me man, it was no picnic
I spent 6 months in that clinic
**** she passed on a burn
Didn’t know right away but soon I’d learn
That her **** was filled with concern
I guess that’s karma cause now it’s my turn
****
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 10:41 AM UTC
i was watching batman (1989) and batman returns (1992)
today, and i couldn't stop layering over birdman (2015)
over both films, it was such a comedy, you knew
that it wasn't a serious engagement
in the role, i just kept picturing
the internal monologue -
the action scenes were already
a gimmick when in the birdman
the explosions start with the critique
of what people actually like to see -
and that critique that the joker
is no more a weird'o than batman
dressed in black leather / spandex -
i just wish heath ledger took a break
from acting, and they did the same
sort of film about the actor behind
the joker, but how would they internalise
the essence of the role: the laughter...
internalising a husky voice can be easily
done when the actor in a different role
can talk easily and speedily without that
haunting husky role of the original part...
but the laughter? it would never work,
which is why jack warned heath
about playing the role... 'son, beware
the laughter.' still, what an enjoyable re-watch,
putting over the birdman nostalgia
over the seriousness of the acting in the
originals, you can actually imagine him
going for a coffee break and taking a ****
when the original screening took place,
the whole: back to reality - it really amplified
the films in a quirky way;
and i still think the joker is the only
doppelgänger that can't be tamed: i'm guessing
because of coulrophobia -
and i could still see remnants of this mythical
doppelgänger on heath in the imaginarium
of dr. parnassus... the clowns are onto you,
you can't steal one of them from
the jammed mini or volkswagen beetle with 20 of them in it,
plus the crying clown, everyone's heard of that
one, they mime laughter, this vocalised doppelgänger
of a clown is cursed -
because unlike actual mimes they don't surd
bewilderment being stuck in a box, or touching
a brick wall obstacle... they surd laughter,
and they share it among themselves in a circus,
vocalising that surd is a curse,
since vocalising an actual mime leaves you
without the actual abstractions,
and from what i heard, brick walls are silent
like graves, unless of course you punch one
or smash a car into one.
Mar 18, 2016
Mar 18, 2016 at 4:41 PM UTC
Slam poetry makes me sick
Literature is the art of the unwashed masses for the simple fact that all you need to have to unlock the magic in a string of words was two eyes and the power to read
Then some selfish ******* decided that he needed more attention
So he created poetry that had to be listened to
And had to be spoken by the author to ensure all attention was pointed his way
Of course once the attention grabbing power of this cookie cutter poetry was revealed to every intellectually overcompensating , coffee drinking, moped riding, fashion statement making *******
Ever coffee shop, book store, street corner and city park was full of pointing fingers and raised voices and whispering
Stomping feet and any other gimmick to keep onlookers from noticing that everything they were hearing was recycled compost
Punctuation was flying everywhere
And the worst part is this brain killing monster ***** good free-thinking poets into its sinister grips
It is time for a revolution
A revolt
A Renaissance
Stop listening to slam poetry
Slap anyone who try's to make it
Tell strangers doing it to shut the **** up
Thank you
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 10:50 AM UTC
I like a tough steak at a regular steak house
(I'm one of those people that doesn't have to have everything tender)
Filet Mignon the spaced out king
pricey Prime Rib
a juicy T-Bone
steak kabobs
a decent well-done steak sandwich,
the non-fatty round steak that
mother used to make
a real rare piece of steak
a cooked by me steak at a
real nice steak house
where the gimmick is cook your own
except for their steak kabob
same with Mister Steak,
that and Outback Steak House in general
Longhorn's will do for something like that!
Oct 11, 2017
Oct 11, 2017 at 3:06 PM UTC
Why waste your time talking, are you insane?
You're pushing real buttons when you could play.
Offer me a gun,
Offer me a blade,
Offer me an answer
Cemented firmly in old ways
Or I will crush you in insults with the language you would use to say,
"Expand"
Only one solution to such a simple problem.
Get what is rightly yours or just defeat or justly save.
Offer me the newest
best displayed gun
with the best gimmick
and I'll offer you several days
but once I hear the pleas with common language and you choose to say,
"Expand"
I have no choice but to crush you into the dirt from whence you came!
So say it. Say what you will. I need to use this answer I obtain.
There are those whose ideas work to change the normative horror
but they're working beyond the confines and outside exposure
necessary to ever, ever, realistically begin the revolution leading
to the evolution necessary for our medium to truly newly thrive
and sure it will survive, you're right about that, but I myself
would like to see a future where when given ultimate control
of a problematic situation, I'm not standing on a platform
made of mechanics that come from a singular origin and only
give me a killswitch, saying, "In which way would you like
to end more lives", and though it's a nice enough reprieve
don't get me wrong, I'd rather have an expansive platform
to stand on where I might be given a multitude of options
that may possibly end in my choosing not to become a
soldier.
Get back.
Rescue.
Retrieve.
Destroy.
Revenge.
Are we lost to the tropes which provide the most money for instant growth
that knowingly keep us from ever, ever truly growing and expanding?
Will this be forever the list we're left to roam?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 3:18 AM UTC
Staring at the long road ahead
Uncertain of where it will lead
During this time of pandemic
To stay at home is my gimmick.
Something’s whispering in my mind
It says, “Let’s go out and unwind.”
Hey! Businesses are still closed
Waiting to serve their purpose.
But then, my hearts’ sole desire
Keeps blazing like a campfire.
It says, “Let’s do something
Or else, we’ll get nothing.”
Just don’t mind about the profit
As long as you’re happy with it
Now, I’ve decided to propose
To serve others is my purpose.
Jul 29, 2020
Jul 29, 2020 at 5:44 AM UTC
Lying in wait
Prone to stagnate
Unfulfilled dreams
It's never too late
I sleep not
For I am awake
Immersed in frustration
Time to create
Not procrastinate
With eyes open
Feeling deflated
Hardly elated
Don't hesitate
To Reevaluate
Rise up from bed
Set the engine to rev
Idle instead?
It's all in your head
Lying in wait
To Regurgitate
The ideas in your brain
Manifest to inflate
The cognitive state
Invent a gimmick, solution, or trait
Should I reiterate
For the duration
Due to inflation?
Remember this date
No time to debate
Today is a gift
Isn't that great?
Not a moment too soon
Must have been fate.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
audio me in... tell the b.t. off standards
to change the connection to lie to get to syria...
i wanted to become a butcher too...
not butchering people though...
onomatopeias of resonance of blah... blah...
you know... woollen trill...
i want the target bacon, i want to target bacon
on that **** head-banging with a pony
while blowing a sheen into a rodin marble
for the glisten of a haircut mare...
dark ivory like purple of a grenade of indigo
blotched with blood...
and spanked / spiked by kandinsky...
i told you i woz a barking gimmick, a barking cult-piece of mafia...
you’ve been warned dear bouncer allotment and semi-detached...
hey kieran - had his kidneys transplanted aged 15...
took to having a ****** aged 16 on the south park fence
when two ******* eyed us and the boys came to make cake...
oi boys r’ us you mention st. petersburg anywhere south of the thames?
i thought so...
make that spelling spaghetti for a kebab of dead meat
appealing:
it’s making headlines, people are fed fat but sugar headlines...
when fat headlines... people will be fed sugar...
salt will never compromise the use of steroids for balloon pop protein
for a mere attire of the bow tie undone with laze.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
They call me gifted
I got it down to an exact science
You can call me scientific
Poetry personified
Powerfully prolific
Rhythmic
So addicting you’ve become dependent
You’re so lost in me
You have no choice
But to defend it
I’ve turned you into a believer
When you were just a cynic
You’re sick
I’ve infected you
Sending you to the clinic
Untreatable
Wide reachable
My mind is an epidemic
A disease that destroys
The things that you
Were taught to mimic
And shows you
That the world around you
Is a cleverly designed gimmick
They call me prophetic
I say no
I’m just not afraid to
Point out the pathetic
Power hungry people
Whose sincerity is synthetic
The futures in their hands
And you’re content to let it?
Some call it rhetoric
I call them irrelevant
Speaking out of the side
Of their necks
Hand held out for paychecks
Employed by evil-Ignoring the Hell of it
They call me gifted
But they can have the same gift
If they open their minds
Don’t disregard the signs
Refuse to stand stiff
Then watch the world shift
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 12:24 AM UTC
(The Art of Failing Goodbye)
I covet your closeness; how could I not? You were my world once upon a mime. Honestly. Though my pride will deny it, our demise left me discarded. Hiding amongst the few collateral souvenirs: stupidity and bitterness.
I bestowed to you the best of me; although you never asked me to. My heart, body, and soul - yours for the taking - a decision made on my own accord. Because you never asked me for any of it. You never asked me to do the things I did. But I loved you - innocent as that. Thus, relinquishing logic entirely.
Hardly more than a stranger, I felt I knew you; unaware of the lidded fabulist within. A mere tourist of my chassis; enthralled by my looks. Enthralled by just me. “In love” so deep, you attempted suicide twice. Upon my rejection – in theory. They almost beat you to death, and left you to the wolves. Deserved it? An understatement tenfold. And yet. My compassion was what saved you.
I protected the same entity who pulverized my own.
They all said you were no good – they said a mythomaniac would leach onto me until there was nothing left, ****** dry – then you would leave. Onto the next; life on the move. Daddy said you’d leave me in shambles. Was he right?
…Duh.
A question sheathed in rhetoric; absolutely. A black hole does not give back. Wake UP, m Maple – Ali – Oliver – whatever you are today.mWake up, you ****** And look here.
You ruthied(sp?) me last Halloween, took my body as your own, enabled a cycle I’ll no longer accept. The girl who cried rape…an alias to forever haunt me.
No one believed me then. Why would they now?
This final hurrah; a Halloween blackout. Wherein, you personified my worst nightmare. A cruel and unusual punishment – at best. And then.
You slithered and slinked away; no apologies – no goodbye for me. You’d taken all of me. Just like they said. All my value – dismembered and pocketed. Off you went…as predicted. Onto the next…life on the move.
You etched your gimmick; smuggling trust; squirreling intuition - these morals I'd entombed - you burrowed away. Promising Eden, you offered a map; directing me as I sailed the route. The garden, however, was not what I found. My catafalque(coffin) negated expectations you set; a utopia of dazzling, abundant nature. For, you'd devised a mousetrap; and I'd glissaded willingly inside…
For the very last time, gaze entwined. Blue on brown.
SNAP.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 7:48 AM UTC
I do not want an old man God sat in a throne,
Judging from afar with sceptre and gold
riding on a cloud, sombre and haloed,
stern faced, woolly warm beard stroking,
Michelangelo-esque nighty clad, run of the mill deity.
I do not want a Sunday morning liturgy reference God,
inhabiting musty buildings, documented within dusty books, out dated, out rated, out of duty once a week
(twice if you include the mid-week bible study),
appeasing a sick relative, reluctant, habit God.
I do not want a jolly nodding head back shelf of the car job, kitsch icon, only when it suits me, pocket amenity,
fashion accessory, hobby gimmick God; a God modelled
from routine and agenda and TV evangelism, a convenience style digestible man made allusion.
I don’t want a controlling egomaniac parent God, bent on
setting us unattainable goals and tasks then throwing
a tantrum when the model train set breaks; or a God
who is distant, self-righteous, passive and out of touch,
an elusive, reclusive, exclusive God,
I want an ‘I Am who I Am’ God, whose boundaries are so
immense that to trace them would destroy you. A God
who is completely indefinable, that every brushstroke
put to canvas, every conceivable melody whistled, that
every imaginable word uttered, would barely compare.
I want a God who to stand before would burn my eyes out, make my heart explode; that I would be totally devastated. Yet, a God who is approachable and approaches, a God who is in the here and now, surrounding, dumbfounding, astounding, a God with promise and hope you can taste.
A God who breaks all the boundaries and exceeds every
human expectation and limitation, a God who hears and feels every longing, every desire and creates opportunity,
empowering the heart that cries out, stilling the soul when it aches, a God of promise and hope and deliverance.
I want a God unlike any parent, friend, lover, sovereign, reckless in compassion and filthy with goodness, available and ever there. So dangerously loving, so excessively wise and firm, yet tender, knowing, emotive, compassionate, A God who takes my grief. A God asking to be found and worth being sought.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 8:28 AM UTC
You met Janice
going to Baldly's groceries
to get a list of goods
for your mother
how goes it?
you asked
Gran tanned
my backside yesterday
for going
on the bomb site
when she had told me
not to
Janice said
sorry I got
you into trouble
you said
not your fault
I’m responsible
for my own actions
she said
I knew Gran
had told me
not to go
but I chose
to disobey
so paid the price
guess she's annoyed
with me too
you said
I didn't say
who was with me
she said
how did she find out ?
a neighbour saw me
and told her
I was on a bomb site
with other kids
and that was it
where you going?
you asked
got to buy
some cereals
for breakfast
she said
going to Baldly's groceries
but not to get any
with those
free toys inside
why's that?
Gran said it's a gimmick
how about going
to the cinema
this afternoon?
you asked
can't
she said
not allowed
after yesterday
she said
shame
you said
got a good western on
and the good guy
has two guns
and has a neat way
of going for his guns
which I want to copy
and practice
she looked sad
I'd liked to
she said
but maybe
another time
when I'm out
of the dog house
sorry
about the trouble
I've landed you in
you said
my fault
mea culpa
as they say
in mass
mea culpa ?
you said
it means my fault
in Latin
she said
I got my backside tanned
once for peeing
in my toy box
you said
she looked shocked
peed in your toy box?
yes I was trying
to impress a cousin
but he told on me
and that was it
I never told
on you yesterday
she said
thank you
you said
she kissed your cheek
best get on
with the shopping
she said
ok
you said
and so she went
in Baldy's with you
and did the shopping
and afterwards
you walked back
your separate ways
after a few words of farewell
and a wave of hands
hoping to see her
again sometime
after her punishment
for the petty crime.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 4:54 AM UTC
I made notes of docking posts
pointing out to murky reflections
of tourists that didn’t have time
for a souvenir mug or a picture
with a black trumpeter content with his brass,
and nothing else, blowing life into the seagull
sky, making the clouds pop and drop spray-
mist jazz, which accompanied his trumpet
with a gentle washboard scrape.
He beat his heel to the thousand pin-drops
of passerby earrings, crab sweatpant draw-
strings, and trawl nets dissolving into the sea.
Baltimore filled the margins
of a travel notebook alongside
pencil sketches of the Aquarium,
Prufrockian split claws
wrapped in algae bandages,
that homeless man weakly thumbing
through a pocket bible, the 32
cents wearing sea salt jackets,
and my cold girlfriend pulling on patron
sweaters in an art museum closet.
But it’s all a gimmick.
It’s $22 crab cakes
and paint-splatter-printed
sweatshirts that say New York
or D.C. or *Everything on a Disposable
Kodak Camera.*
Tired of the idea, I threw the page
over the edge, hoping to drown
it in green, but I never heard it hit
the water. I braced myself on a life
ring rack, leaned over,
and watched it settle into a natural
barge of dead leaves and orange peels
while sea foam circled
it like a bed skirt that’s only
noticed for the few seconds spent stripping
down before going to sleep
just to wake up to rain on the Royal Sonesta,
kids racing down the hall, the obligatory
alarm clock,
and the black trumpeter’s groove
four floors down.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 3:29 PM UTC